


Hecatomb

by Quicksilver_ink



Category: Suikoden, Suikoden I
Genre: Gen, Not Compliant With Paracanon, The Kalekka Incident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 20:37:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7283806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quicksilver_ink/pseuds/Quicksilver_ink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Odessa seeks the truth behind the Battle at Kalekka, and takes her first steps towards revolution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hecatomb

**Author's Note:**

  * For [surskitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/surskitty/gifts).



> For Surskitty, who wanted to see Odessa meeting Humphrey. Leon snuck his way in. Sneaky Silverbergs.
> 
> Not compliant with the Suikoden Parody Comic manga backstory for Odessa.

_This,_ Odessa realized, as her pulse pounded in her temples and her vision seemed to haze over, narrowing until all she saw was the expressionless face of the man before her,  _is what they mean by blinding rage._

“Say that again,” she said slowly, when she was sure she was breathing, and her awareness of the room around them returned -- of the clink and clatter of dishes, faint beneath the incomprehensible drone of many voices talking at once; the heavy air, sour with the smells of sweat and beer and the tavern’s signature stew; and the stifling heat of the wool cloak she wore to hide her too-fine clothes.

Humphrey Mintz did not blink. “Our orders were to kill every man, woman, and child. And we carried them out.”

She ought to have wept, or shouted, or at least slammed a fist on the table. She ought to have been nauseated. The bloody massacre at Kalekka -- the proof of Jowston’s utter depravity and barbarity --  had been carried out by the Empire itself. Such an obscenity demanded a reaction in kind. But fury kept her frozen, barely breathing.

After a measured pause, the man added, “We gathered them in the headman’s house. It was an important matter, so important that even the elderly needed to be there, the town leper, the children.” His voice was bland, a soldier’s perfect discipline, but minutes before he’d told her that he’d struck down his captain in rage. “Some of the elderly couldn’t walk, and needed to be carried. And the children, too. I remember the townswomen wore their babes in yellow slings.”

“Why?” The question slipped out, but her voice was steadier that it had any right to be.

“Folk belief. Yellow wards off sickness.”

“I meant, why… the killing.”  _Your orders_ , she almost said, but Humphrey had not hidden behind euphemisms.

He turned a hand palm-up. “The Emperor needed popular support for the war against Jowston.”

“But Jowston was about to invade!” That was the one thing Mathiu had told her, before he had gone north with their uncle. Before he’d come back a shadow-eyed stranger. “That should have been enough… Unless that was a lie, too.” She drew a shaky breath. “But -” _why would my brother lie to me_ -”What would Emperor Barbarossa gain from starting a war so early after taking the throne? How could he slaughter innocent people -- the people he pledged to guide and protect!” _Who can I trust?_

“I don’t know.”

Odessa looked at her hands, clenched in fists in her lap, and made herself open them. She looked at the faint rows of crescent-marks in her palms. “Sir Mintz…”

“Just Humphrey. A soldier who flees the battlefield has no right to a surname.”

“Humphrey, then. Thank you for your time,” she said. “And the information. I know you took a risk in meeting with me.” She reached under her cloak, inside her shirt, and withdrew a small purse. She placed it on the table between them. “The second half. As promised.”

Humphrey did not reach for it. “Do you believe me?”

Odessa hesitated.

“I’m a fugitive and a coward who fled the battlefield,” he pointed out. “You have no reason to trust me.”

 _In war and politics, always consider the source of your information._ How many times had she heard Uncle Leon say those words in lessons? She sat up straighter.   _Trust best that which can be independently verified; question -- but do not wholly discount -- that which cannot._

“I want to be able to trust you,” she said, looking him in the eye. “You took a significant risk to meet with me -- you trusted my word and motives enough to take that risk. But I also don’t want what you have told me to be true. Because if it is, then the Empire has committed a terrible crime against its own people.”

Humphrey nodded.

"Yet I can't discount what you've told me just because it's uncomfortable. That would be cowardice."

As the words left her lips, her memory echoed Uncle Leon again. _Coward._  That had been all he’d said to her brother when Mathiu left their home not a week after they’d returned from the north.

She’d expected her brother to argue -- he hd his share of the family tendency toward pride -- but all he’d said was, “Perhaps. But there are worse things to be.” And then, without another word, stepped out the door. He was -- had been --  the next head of the Silverberg family, and yet he walked away from the family manor carrying only two bags -- one of books, one of clothes -- like a merchant’s son.

She shook her head slightly, coming back to the present. Humphrey had said nothing as she thought, letting the bustle of the tavern filling the space between them.

At last, he stood. “Find me again when you’ve found the truth. I’ll take the second half then.” He walked away without another word.

Odessa stayed seated, not turning to watch him go. She’d promised to wait five minutes before leaving herself, but she sat there for much longer, her thoughts and emotions churning like a river rapids.

 

* * *

She slept badly that night, turning Humphrey’s words over and over through her mind, hashing and rehashing the scant handful of conversations she’d had with Mathiu before he’d left. She rose several times, checking her boots (she'd already cleaned them) and cloak (she was airing it best she could) for anything that might betray her midnight errand. But when morning came, there was no scolding or dismay from the housemaid, no summons from her uncle. Only her fatigue rebuked her.

 _Be orderly about this_ , she told herself as she stared at her uneaten breakfast porridge, hearing the echo of her uncle from long-ago lessons. _Assess the source of your information. Informants will have their own agendas and biases._ She'd been fourteen when he stopped teaching her, nearly six years ago now. _Clear your mind. No emotions, no illusions._ That echo came from her archery teacher, which she'd taken up to fill the gap in her schedule.

Humphrey Mintz was a fugitive. According to notice issued for his arrest -- and by his own admission -- he’d refused orders, struck his superior officer, and fled the battlefield. She'd been the one to track him down. Humphrey had little to lose and much to gain by spinning a tale that would appeal to the sympathies of a noblewoman who’d done too little to hide that she was unsatisfied with the official story.

Mathiu was her brother, her best friend and closest confidant since their parents had died nine years ago. Mathiu had never lied to her before, not about things that truly mattered, and not on such a scale. Her chest tightened at the thought that he _hadn't_ been truthful with her, but she had to consider it.

But where would the lie be? He’d been the one to tell her about the week of secret conferences he and their Uncle were summoned to, meetings with the Great Generals and even His Majesty the Emperor himself. He’d told her what the rumor mill was already starting to suggest -- that Jowston planned to invade. And he’d refused to tell her what had happened that had driven him to self-imposed exile. It was possible to lie with silence, she knew, but here...

Uncle Leon was the head of her family and noble house, the chief Imperial strategist, and considered by all in the Empire to be the most brilliant Silverberg strategist since the great Julian himself. A brilliant man, a pragmatic man, he'd married for politics – Odessa had not seen her aunt since her parents' funeral. He'd trained all three children of her generation in strategy in turn, although only Mathiu had been deemed suitable. He’d told her less than Mathiu before they’d departed for Kalekka, only: “We go in the Empire’s service, and do what is necessary.” He had no reason to lie to her, but – Odessa forced herself to complete the thought – he no reason to tell his failed student the full truth, either. But to allow the murder of an entire town? Surely he'd have argued against it, tried to make the Emperor see reason.

The resonant clink of metal spoon against ceramic brought her back to the present; she'd finished her breakfast.

 

* * *

 

She spent the remainder of the morning in the courtyard with her bow. Falling into the familiar rhythm of practice. Draw, hold, release. Draw, hold, release. Draw, feel the pull of her muscles steady against the tension in the string. Hold, breath and body still. Release, the arrow flying free as naturally as water flowed downstream.

But her form was as unfocused as her thoughts and emotions. _True shooting, certain hitting,_ her archery teacher had taught her. Little surprise that most of her arrows went wide of her target.

 

* * *

 

Evening found her outside her uncle's study. She rapped her knuckles lightly on the door. “Uncle?”

There was no answer, but the knock had been, admittedly, timid. _Don’t be a coward. You need to face the truth head-on,_ she scolded herself, and knocked again, more firmly. “Uncle, it’s me. Odessa.”

“Come in, child.”

Odessa stepped inside, closed the door behind her, and hesitated.

“Well?”

“Uncle, what happened in Kalekka? The truth, please.”

He frowned. “I've told you already. We went north under the Emperor's banner, to deal with the threat of Jowston's invasion.”

“That only tells me why you went to Kalekka. I asked what _happened_. What did you do there, Uncle?”

Her uncle regarded her, as inscrutable as Humphrey had been. Finally, he said, “So, this is what you've been using my informants for, and why the servants tell me you've been slipping out at night. You've got more determination than I thought you did. Perhaps I gave up on you too soon. Though,” he mused. “You were always soft-hearted”

“Uncle. Answer my question.”

“At my recommendation, and under the Emperor’s orders, the Hundred-Man Battalion secured the town.” His tone was crisp and even, the way he'd taught her to report on the battles she'd studied and strategies she proposed. “After eliminating the witnesses, they donned the colors of the Tinto and Southwind Jowston armies. When the Third Company of the Imperial Army arrived, they exchanged fire before the Battalion retreated to the north.”

She had to take a few breaths before her temper let her speak. “So you really did kill the people of the town.” It was a surprise the words came out as even as they did.

“To preserve the Empire and prevent greater loss of life, yes. War is a bloody business, but what we did was necessary.”

“How is murdering innocent people _necessary_?” Odessa demanded hotly.

“Do not let your sentiments blind you, child,” her uncle said sternly. “Listen. His Majesty needed the support of the populace, but they were too war-weary to care about an ordinary invasion, especially if the fighting is distant, in cities they've never heard of. Commoners lack a noble’s natural pride in their nation. They care little who collects the taxes and sends soldiers to deal with bandits, so long as they can get on with their lives.

“With the Imperial army so depleted after the Succession War, Jowston would have swept over the entire Moravian region in a matter of months. It would have been the work of years – and ten times the lives – taking the region back.”

“I see.” Odessa sat down on a chair and carefully arranged her hands in her lap as the tides of rage beat at her temples. “So you're saying all of the people of Kalekka would have died anyway. So it was all right that you killed them.”

“Don't be a fool. With no nobleman or garrison in their town, Kalekka have surrendered to Jowston immediately. Most of the deaths would be after, during the looting and – well, you know what armies can be like.”

“Good leadership and discipline can rein that in,” she retorted. “You taught me that.”

“Good leadership from Jowston and its corrupt collection of so-called elected mayors?” Her uncle waved a dismissive hand. “Unlikely. Emperor Barbarossa is the better ruler.”

“Is he really a better ruler if he's willing to sacrifice his own people for the sake of his own power?”

“In war, it's what a ruler _does_.” Leon said patiently. “It's the same as chess – you cannot win a game without losing pieces. A good player is one who spends his pieces to best advantage. A good ruler does the same with his men.” He looked at her face and sighed. “This is why I never told you in the first place. You have a good mind, child, but you're too sentimental.”

“People aren't gamepieces. And there's a difference between killing civilians and sending your soldiers to die fighting other soldiers.”

“Why? Is a soldier's life worth less, then?”

“That's not what – ” She stopped. Her uncle was no fool; he was twisting her words to distract her from the real issue. “Why Kalekka? _”_

“It was the best choice, logistically.”

“And why kill everyone? Why not send the battalion to attack the town in Jowston colors, and let some survive to carry the tales of their atrocities?”

“That scant handful of lives? There was the chance that one of those townspeople would uncover the deception, a possible point of failure. We could risk no survivors.”

“And you're sure there were none? No one off hunting or fishing, no travelers arriving at the wrong moment-”

“Don't be such a sentimental dreamer. You know we made no such mistakes. No one was left to carry tales. And the Hundred-Man Battalion knows a soldier's first duty is to obey orders.”

 _But Humphrey didn't think that,_ Odessa, thought. She held her tongue, although she did not know why. “And it was really necessary? There was no other way?”

Leon Silverberg rose from his seat. “You must see by now that it was the best solution – the fewest lives spent. A few hundred civilians, and a score of soldiers. Are you still going to tell me we were wrong, and should simply have let Jowston take our land?” His tone grew impatient.

“That's a false dichotomy. You had other options.

“None that were worth anything. Don't patronize me, child. I taught you everything you know about strategy. Do you really think you know better than I do?”

_Assess the source of your information. Informants will have their own agendas, their own biases. Some will lie by omission, others will be blinded, and tell the truth only as they see it._

Odessa took a deep breath. “If you did nothing wrong, then why did Mathiu leave?”

Leon snorted. “Because he was a coward. Go away, you're too emotional to see clearly. This is why I stopped teaching you years ago."

 _I learned my last lesson from you tonight,_ she thought. But all she said to her former teacher was “Good evening, Uncle." She curtseyed, one last time, and left the room.

 

* * *

 

Again, she slept badly, and ate her breakfast mechanically the next morning. But on the archery range, her breath was even and every shot flew true. When she went to remove her arrows, they were clustered so tightly in the center of the target she had to cut them out.

 

* * *

 

A week later and an hour past midnight found Odessa in the tavern a second time. Her first visit, she'd been anxious, impatient, trying not to tap her foot or drum her fingers on the table. She'd ordered ale, and tried to drink it, and failed repeatedly, too nervous to stomach anything bitter. This time, she lifted the wooden cup, only pretending to drink. This time, her feet were flat and her hands stead.

A shadow fell over her; she looked up.

“Did you find the truth?” Humphrey asked her as he took a seat across from her.

By way of answer she set the purse down before him, although she left her hand on it. “My uncle confirmed your story. But I have two questions for you. The first is a question of... morals.”

Humphrey raised an eyebrow. “You ask a criminal for moral guidance?”

“I ask a fugitive his moral opinion.”

“Then ask.”

“Is there a difference – for a soldier, or a country – between killing a soldier and killing a civilian?” She raised her eyes to his face.

Humphrey met her gaze. “Yes.”

“What is it?”

His mouth twisted into a crooked smile. “It's the reason I became a fugitive.”

Again, they both fell quiet. Then Humphrey asked, “What was your second question?”

Odessa took a breath before responding. Draw, hold. “I'd like to offer you employment. Will you work for me?”

Humphrey did not mask his surprise. “Work?”

“My birthday is next month – I'll be reaching my majority,” Odessa explained. “I plan to travel. For that, I'll need a bodyguard.”

“Just one? That's a poor entourage for a Silverberg scion.”

“I won't be travelling as a noble.”

Humphrey considered this, then nodded. “Where will you travel to?”

Odessa chose her words with care. This tavern was haven enough for common criminals, but skirting the line of treason was another matter. “I wish to see with my own eyes how great a ruler we have in his Majesty.”

Humphrey sat in silence for a few moments. “I have a question.”

“Ask.”

“As your soldier, what would my first duty be? Follow your orders, kill your enemies?”

Odessa shook her head, and answered the question he was really asking. “No. Your first duty would be to protect those you're sworn to protect.”

Humphrey rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then extended a hand. “All right, Lady Silverberg, I'll work for you.”

She took his hand and shook. Calloused and large against hers, his grip was gentler than she'd expected. “I haven't named your wages, you realize.”

He shrugged, drawing back his hand. “Honest work is hard for me to find. I can't afford to be picky. But if you'd permit me to make a suggestion?”

“Suggestion?”

“There's a northerner working as a mercenary who's made quite a name for himself recently. Word has it that monsters attacked his town, and he's the only one who survived.”

“Monsters?” Odessa repeated, thoughtfully. _If he were a survivor of Kalekka, it wouldn't be safe to say it was_ soldiers _, would it._ “What's his name?”

Humphrey told her.

Odessa thought, then nodded. “Well, it's worth looking into, at least. Where can this Viktor be found, do you know?”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> We learn very little about the details of the Kalekka Incident in game-canon, since our main source (the Old Book) is in-universe unreliable. Most of what we know about the what and the why comes from paracanon, and over the years I've seen various fan translators present that information in different ways. Some explanations are unsatisfactory to me in some ways, and others in others; this is my attempt to make some sense of the whole matter, and I don't claim to be completely paracanon-compliant in that regard.   
> I also don't think I quite did the matter justice.


End file.
